


When Only Memory Remains

by Cadilus (Ahsurika)



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, FemShep - Freeform, Gen, Krogan, Krogan Children, Memorials, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Shepard/Liara T'Soni, Nostalgia, Pilgrimage, Post-Canon, Post-Mass Effect 3, War Stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahsurika/pseuds/Cadilus
Summary: A three-chapter postscript to Shepard's epic journey, closure for the ones they (and we) loved, and a tribute to the heroism of those who fought for their galaxy. Hope you like it!





	1. Krogan Pilgrimage

**Author's Note:**

> A three-chapter postscript to Shepard's epic journey, closure for the ones they (and we) loved, and a tribute to the heroism of those who fought for their galaxy. Hope you like it!

 

Armored to the crest and bearing massive shotguns, the four krogan marching through the Presidium drew as many wide-eyed looks as the geth Assembly delegation. Some onlookers seemed curious; others, fearful. Those who recognized the significance of their armor's design – at least, that it  _was_  significant – stepped back, engaging in whispered conversation, fascinated and excited and apprehensive.

The krogan marched on. Unaffected, unwavering. Strong.

 _A welcome sight_.

Standing at the foot of the Presidium's greatest ornament, Wrex nodded in approval. Not many young krogan would be able to brush off such overwhelming attention. These four had good heads about them – as collected and confident as warriors of old.

_They will make fine members of our race._

He watched as a human C-Sec officer planted himself in the way, gesturing wildly. Probably spouting some nonsense about firearm regulations –

" _You want me to arrest you?"_

_Wrex narrowed his eyes. "I want you to try."_

" _And_ I _would rather you save it for Fist."_

_A female, human, bearing several rifles and flanked by a pair of Alliance marines, a perceptive stare from haunted eyes –_

– he blinked, realizing his mouth was drawn up in a smile, a smile he quickly suppressed.  _Grinning like an idiot in public at a_ memory _. I need a drink. Or five._

A dismissive grunt, a cold shoulder, and the human officer went sprawling. His companions drew their pistols, but Wrex's krogan marched through them with purpose in their stride. The officers continued to shout but hesitated to follow.

_Disappointing. Back to the old days, when no one had any backbone. Twenty years ago someone might have started a fight. Would've been fun, too…_

Wrex chuckled at the thought, drawing anxious glances from a nearby pair of asari – who quickly turned away at his answering glare.

Well, at least  _some_  things didn't change.

And yet…

Their recognition of his strength evoked none of the pride it once would have. Even now, a quarter of a century after the Reaper War, the Citadel bore great scars as a testament to the battles it had witnessed (and hosted), but within its weathered exterior its inhabitants had begun to grow soft.

It showed in the new Presidium's gentle glow, in the wavy curves of the shining white walls. It showed in the gentle hum of the hovercars, in the quiet tinkling of the fountains pouring their streams of light into the sparkling reservoir. It showed in the relaxed expressions of the milling people, in the casual, meandering pace of life.

And it showed in the way they backed down from confrontation.

It showed in everything. Everything, except…

Wrex looked up.

Rising a hundred feet into the air, dull steel formed the likeness of a human female, a soldier in N7 armor. The Council had commissioned it, their last act before being folded into the Assembly. Had they known it would become the destination of hundreds of thousands of krogan on Pilgrimage (let alone the millions who visited each month), they might have thought twice about placing it in the center of the Presidium.

But then, they had never really understood Shepard's effect on the people of the galaxy.

"Father."

His son stood before him.

"Mordin." Wrex nodded a greeting at the other three krogan. "And the sons of Urdnot Grunt. If he were alive today, he would approve of your coming."

The four youths gathered around Wrex, and his old instincts kicked into action. His eyes flicked rapidly from one to the other, evaluating their stance, alertness, how many weapons they carried and where. The air roiled with the tension between them.

And he knew they could sense it, too. They refused to back down from his stare despite their apprehension.  _I may be the strongest krogan now, but in a century…_

"Good."

He relaxed, and the four grinned at each other, nodding in appreciation and pride. Wrex did not return their , but not for lack – the bonds between the four were strong. They would not wither or break, would only tighten as years lengthened into centuries.

_Vakarian will appreciate these pups._

"Now stop grinning like you just killed a thresher maw. I'm not  _so_  old that I couldn't take you all in a fight."  _Though they_ did _kill a thresher maw…pups, maybe, but pups with teeth._

"Why were  _you_  grinning just now?"

Wrex narrowed his eyes at Altor, Grunt's youngest son.  _Apparently the one with the loosest tongue as well_. "I witnessed your brush with C-Sec. It reminded me of another time, another place…"  _The shootout in Chora's Den – only the first of many we fought together, Shepard._ "…before I deserved to become a warlord. C-Sec didn't push a confrontation then, either."

"They're fools," Karak, largest and eldest of Grunt's sons, snorted. "No spine at all. Their fathers could only be varren, and their mothers –"

He reeled backward with a roar, eyes rolling about in a daze. Wrex glared at him, massaging his head where he'd slammed it into the other krogan's.  _I'll feel that one tomorrow…a thick skull is its own defense._

"You don't know a thing,  _whelp_."  _Hmm_.  _Even the offspring of such a hero as Grunt can grow up a fool. Useful lesson to remember._  "These pyjaks couldn't shoot a gun if you held it for them. But their parents were warriors."

Pushing his way through the young krogan, Wrex strolled to the nearby railing. The reservoir glittered in the artificial light. "You wouldn't believe it – hell, there are times I don't believe it myself – but there was a time when the Citadel's inhabitants had a fighting spirit to rival that of our greatest."

Nodding, he turned back to his audience. "Do you know why you're here?"

The youths glanced at each other.

Wrex crossed his arms. "Your Rite was a test of your courage and skill, but also of your teamwork. You proved you were strong, you showed you could survive, you joined the clan. Combat, skill, and trust guided you."

"Your Pilgrimage is different."

He pressed a finger against Karak's head, holding the young krogan's eyes with a sharp glare. "Var'sko."

Shifting his gaze to the others, he poked their crests in turn. "Bailey. Huntsman. Krios. Renala. Engrave these names in your mind. These, and the rest: Aethyta, Oraka, Haron, T'Loak, Fredricks, Sha'ira, Verner…"

Saldek, Grunt's middle son, nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Bailey and Var'sko…these names…they were on the Citadel when the tide turned, weren't they? During Operation Crucible?"

"We gave them up for dead. The Citadel had closed on them with a Reaper inside," Wrex said, recalling the tales that had spread like wildfire after the victory. Many of these heroes had killed enough Reaper soldiers to make any krogan sick with envy. Some, like Krios - the Wind of the Wards, they called him - had become local legends only a step below Shepard.

And Bailey…Bailey, whose statue of honor stood in the center of C-Sec's former headquarters, who had coordinated the entire station's defense, who had battled with massive losses through the thickest of the enemy forces to the docks, who had commanded the blazing cruiser that had finally brought down the Reaper.

"But they fought…and they won."

Riveted by his words, the young krogan seemed as statues themselves. There was no tension in their motionless stance, but neither did they seem idle. Alert, aware of their surroundings yet spellbound by Wrex's meaning.

_Good._

"Now tell me. Why are you here?"

"To listen."

They all turned to Saldek, whose expression glowed. " _You're_  here. You worked with Shepard. You fought with her. You know what it is like to travel with a living legend…to fight for something greater than glory or credits."

A long, dramatic intake of breath, the beginnings of a smile, his eyes alight. "And to stand here, on the Citadel, in the heart of galactic civilization, with Shepard watching over us…we proved we could fight. Now we'll learn why."

Wrex scrutinized the boy.  _More of a scholar than a warrior…not that one excludes the other. I should refer him to T'soni...if she's not already watching this. Opinionated people flock together._ "I like how you think, pup."

He climbed onto the statue's base. Turning to face the youths below, he said, "Legends, myths, tales of the dead…we think we honor the fallen with our telling. And we do, for we ensure that they live on even in death. But they inspire us, drive us to greater heights."

The memories came then. Pulling the trigger into a geth's gut, dodging the falling rock as he sprinted toward an unsteady elevator. Spitting out dust, wiping away the slime from the ancient growth that had tried to kill them. Fighting his own kind beside a turian and a human, their twin rifles cracking away with the rapid thunder of covering fire. That same human, her features sharp and sad, yet grinning as she heaved a scarred chestplate into his surprised hands.

"Sometimes I wonder who feels more honored."

_We made our own stories, Shepard. But a story untold is a story only half finished._

"Let me tell you about a world called Noveria."

Curious passersby slowed, turned to watch the unusual sight. Krogan often came by this statue, often stood atop the statue's wide base and told war stories, but rarely did they stand with such presence. This was no simple warrior, and no everyday Pilgrimage they were witnessing. Some onlookers inched forward, drawn by the intensity of the krogan at the statue, catching some of the words, hearing their power and truth even without understanding why.

They gathered at Wrex's feet, first scores, then hundreds brought together by chance and the desire to listen.

And Wrex told them.

* * *

_**Two hours later…** _

Some of the sights before him would linger in his thoughts for weeks.

A pack of young humans, soft-faced and innocent-eyed, sat in the front, did not even seem to realize the story had ended. A trio of geth stood at ease among the listeners. An old batarian, scarred and crippled, shook his head at the statue. In the back of the crowd, an asari with a white dress and milky eyes peered at Wrex before turning and walking away with shaky steps.

Wrex caught himself nodding. He felt…he couldn't quite make out how he felt. There was pride, of course, and satisfaction, and relief at having managed to speak for so long. But there was exhaustion, too, a weariness that had nothing to do with hours of constant speech. And…not sadness, no, but…and yet perhaps that was...

The crowd of hundreds was staring at him.

Wrex grunted.  _If they're expecting a krogan warlord to give them advice, they'll be here a long time. I can always talk to Mordin's krant later_. "There are things I could say. Words of wisdom, what it all means, family, forgiveness, sacrifice… _hrmph_. But you've already heard the important ones. You already know what it means, because the story is its own lesson. You don't need any more than that."

Some departed with slow strides, but most of the assembled beings remained. Wrex frowned. Did this always happen at a Pilgrimage? At this rate he'd have to push his way out…not that he minded, in fact he rather relished the idea, but even if they were all just going to  _stand_  there, even if Grunt's boys were fools, Wrex's _own son_ should –

"Tell us another story, Father." At the head of the crowd, Mordin lifted his chin, his orange eyes intense.

Wrex rolled the tightness from his shoulders.  _I see_. "It's late, Mordin, and –"

"We came to learn about heroism." His son refused to back down. "We came to hear about Shepard."

_Two hundred years ago…even fifty years ago, I would have had the energy –_

A sea of faces around him, expectant, waiting, hungering.

Wrex took in their awe, their eagerness - and that indescribable feeling that lay between faith and hope - and an odd, buoyant feeling welled up in his chest. A feeling he had only felt once before – as he stood on a rocky outcropping, Bakara's hand in his, a glittering curtain of gold dust snowing from Tuchanka's cloudy sky.

It filled him with strength.

_They wish to hear your story, Shepard…not just one chapter, but all that I can tell them. They wish to know you as I did. And long after they're gone, their children's children will tell it to the next generation, and the next, and the next._

"Very well."  _Who is more honored, Shepard? Does it matter?_  "One more story…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you succeed at fighting off (or killing) a thresher maw, you get storytime on the Citadel. Yep. A group of krogan on Pilgrimage (they almost always go as a krant) travels to the Presidium statue of Shepard and listens as an older warrior (handpicked by the clan leader) tells a tale from the Reaper War. The story chosen always involves other races and a struggle requiring unity as much as skill, courage as much as confidence. It is also a story from the older krogan's own experience.
> 
> Wrex himself never played this role until his son's Pilgrimage. Why Noveria over Virmire? I don't know. Both seemed valid to me. His next story would be Virmire, if he could manage to talk nonstop for another couple hours…
> 
> In this universe, Grunt died neither on the suicide mission nor with Aralakh Company but made it to Earth, where he finally fell in battle, bleeding out after he brought down a fifth Harvester amid the hundreds of foes he had slain.
> 
> As the legend goes – and as the krogan enthusiastically hold – his final words were, "Battlemaster…that leaves…us…"


	2. Old Friends

_**Three hours later...** _

Skycars drove by, droning, rhythmic. A blanket of distant noise on the spotless calm of the Presidium. The sound allowed Wrex's mind to stray.

To wander, from memory to fading memory.

Telling Shepard's story had made him more nostalgic than he'd expected. His people thrived in the Galactic Peace, but a part of him, deeply buried yet always present, wondered if he could thrive with them. He itched for something more...just  _more_. Maybe he had lived for too long in the old ways to ever truly feel comfortable in this new era.

Times like this, he almost regretted the Reapers' demise.

His senses tingled.

His hand slid casually to his shotgun. A quick sniff of the air – humanoid, the scent of circuitry. One who spent time around computers – not an AI, though, not a geth. Confident, slow pace, casual but with purpose.

_Can't be farther away than a couple yards. Hmm. Either I've gotten soft, or he's –_

He sniffed again.

–  _or she's good. Either way, I can hope for a good fight._

"You know, I never told you how happy I was to see you send krogan on a Pilgrimage."

Twenty-five years fell away in an instant. All the politics, the feigned politeness, the aggressive negotiations, the monumental stress of creating an entire new  _culture_...their crushing weights, gone. He hadn't even realized his burdens' magnitude until her dreamy, halting voice lifted them from his shoulders.

 _Not that I'll ever tell her that._ "Bet you could tell me the names of every krogan to pass by this statue," he muttered.

He could practically hear her answering smile. "Of course. Though these four were among the most impressive I've seen yet. Your son is not the strongest, but...he has your spirit. The mark of a warlord. It's obvious."

Pride swelled within him as she sidled up next to him. "You know a lot about my people for a girl who spent most of her life digging up the artifacts of a dead species."

"Well, I  _am_ one-quarter krogan. It must be innate."

Wrex chuckled at that. Hand dropping from his weapon, he turned to face his friend.

Signature white-and-blue lab coat. Almost certainly hiding a Carnifex or two. Silver gloves, gleaming in the Presidium's artificial sunlight. Pale blue skin, freckled face that could wear any expression.

And those eyes, those electric blue eyes that could invite you in to rip you to shreds, deep pools that hid a thousand secrets and betrayed none.

"You look healthy, T'soni."

"Thank you. So do you, Wrex." T'soni gave him a curious glance. "But that can't be a comment on my age, can it? Years don't mean much to people with our lifespans."

He grunted, shifting his weight in an attempt to loosen his tight muscles. It took longer than he expected. "Maybe not in the first few centuries."

Her chuckle was music to his ears. "Feeling old?"

 _Not sure I want to be having this conversation_. "Never thought I'd see a son grow to adulthood."

T'soni smiled warmly. "I heard your story."

 _Our story_. "I'm glad you did."

"You...tell it well."

"No need to sound surprised. Krogan are good at telling the tales of our legends. Especially when those tales are about ourselves."

Her teasing shove pleased him – most krogan wouldn't dare do something he could construe as a challenge, and of the Citadel's denizens only Vakarian showed him such familiarity. "You could've given me more credit against Alestia. It was my stasis that kept her off our backs."

"Your stasis." Wrex tapped the trusty weapon at his hip. "My shotgun. Which do you think hurt her more?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I can't imagine hearing it told any other way."

Wrex scowled. T'soni's composed expression and melodious voice made it impossible for him to gauge if she was conceding or just making fun of him. With how much Shepard had influenced her in other ways...

Her next words came in a gentle murmur. "It's a good one to tell."

He couldn't help but ask the question that, for all his certitude and experience, glowed in his mind. "Will she like it?"

The sound of their slow, even breathing melded with the languor of the Presidium's atmosphere.

"She'll love it."

So she  _was_  still in contact with Shepard. Good. The commander's sudden disappearance after the war had worried him more than he cared to admit. Though Wrex would never choose a quiet retirement for himself, he thought he could almost understand the appeal for someone who'd carried as much weight as Shepard had. But to vanish without a trace –

"I wonder how the genophage cure affects them. Grunt's children, I mean."

Shaking away his thoughts, Wrex slowly turned to gape at T'soni. He didn't hear correctly. He couldn't have.  _She wonders about_ that _? Still a scientist at heart, I see._

Her brow wrinkled as she leaned on the terrace railing. "The fact that three out of nineteen survived the womb is remarkable given that they were conceived before we cured the genophage. It could not have been in the mothers unless, perhaps, they were developing resistance to the genophage. All three of them...I doubt it. More likely the genes were in the father. But was it because he was tank-born or because of the warlords' genes? Which warlords–"

"T'soni."

She turned, eyes questioning. "Yes, Wrex?"

"No offense, but I don't care."

Her mouth opened in an 'o'.

"What I do want to know," he said, crossing his arms, "is where a certain asari bounty hunter went. You know the one."

The sly look on her face aggravated him to no end. "Now, now, Wrex, you know it wouldn't be proper if I just  _gave_ you information."

Wrex harrumphed.  _Wonder if she actually means it or if she's seen Aleena taunt me over the extranet._ "Watch me convince you."

T'soni shrugged, spreading her palms before her. "Terminus. That's all you get until you pay up...and if this asari is also a paying customer I might not want to lose her."

"Paying customer, my quad...you're a friend, T'soni," Wrex said with a grin, swallowing his annoyance. "I'd hate to have to kill you."

_Though, I could use a good fight. Benezia's daughter, Shadow Broker, Shepard's partner, peerless biotic..._

As if she heard his thoughts –  _damn Shadow Broker, might as well be able to_ – T'soni  _smiled_. "I'm glad to see that Citadel politics haven't diminished your warrior instinct."

Wrex grunted, leaning against the railing...and stood up straight again when she lifted an eyebrow. "Don't confuse me for Vakarian," he said gruffly, turning away to hide his irritation.  _Can't rest for even a moment with her around...she's almost as quick as Bakara._ " _I_  haven't forgotten how to fight. Vakarian's still a crack shot, but he's getting soft. Heh. For a turian, anyway. If he hasn't lost a step or two, then I'm still a dead-end merc."

Silence.

He glanced back at her. T'soni was gazing out at the watery plain below, her eyes clouded.

"You alright?" he asked, nudging her white-coated shoulder.

She shook herself, a heavy sigh escaping her. "Just...remembering."

"You miss it, too."

Her eyes narrowed, but not in anger. He could see his own musings reflected in her face. "I wouldn't trade peace for anything,  _especially_  the Reapers...but..."

"Peace has a price," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. This kind of conversation was...not his specialty.

Judging by how she winced, he'd probably failed. "I think about the price every day. We gained so much, and yet...I haven't spoken with Garrus in two years. It's been four years since I saw Tali...two decades since you and I last spoke more than business. And Shepard..."

She trailed off.

" _Bah_ ," he interjected into the silence, waving her comment aside, more interested in what she'd left unsaid.  _And Shepard, T'soni...what was the_   _price for her?_ "You said it yourself. Years don't mean much to us. I'm impressed you even keep track."

Blinking, T'soni looked around, her expression more distressed than he'd seen in a long time. For once, she looked her age. "Not physically, no. But inside? I was still a student, a child, when my professors accepted my plea to join the dig on Therum. Three years later I'd traveled the galaxy and found the Protheans' greatest creations – Goddess, I met a  _living Prothean_! That's all to say nothing of becoming the Shadow Broker, fighting on the front lines of a galactic war, and...falling in love..."

Wrex knew how she felt. In those same three years, he'd gone from a rogue merc, lashing out in despair at the state of his people, to an unchallenged warlord, walking the genophage-free krogan toward a new dawn.  _Enough to send any krogan reeling._

He clapped her on the shoulder, felt the knotted tension there. The same tightness he carried with him. "Hard to keep your balance when change happens so fast. Good, or bad."

A quick, relieved laugh broke from T'soni, and she slumped beneath his heavy hand. "Yes, I – yes. It is."

Wrex let his arm fall, and they stood together, old comrades in arms, thinking about days that now, in this age of tranquil prosperity, seemed so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always take Liara and Wrex on Noveria. It just feels right to me, story-wise. And I like their biotics.
> 
> If it seems like Liara is channeling Mordin with that bit about the genophage...she is, but herself as well. I like to believe that in spite of everything, of all her experiences and trials, she still retains a piece of that innocent scholarly curiosity that brought her to Therum and the Normandy - a new life, new family, a new love - in the first place.


	3. Her Choice, Her Legend

_**An hour later…** _

"Wrex."

"T'soni."

"I'm curious. You send young krogan on a Pilgrimage…"

Wrex nodded. "After they finish their Rite." He cast her a sidelong glance. "But you knew that. What else do you already know?"

Liara inclined her head. Her contacts among the krogan were growing, but at the time it had taken careful digging to learn as much as she had. A welcome challenge for an information broker in peacetime. "The Pilgrimage was your idea. Several clan chiefs thought you were trying to destroy krogan culture. The shamans called a summit to stop half the clans from rebelling…"

She folded her arms, peering at Wrex. "…and after the meeting, the dissenters wanted to go on Pilgrimage themselves. How did you convince them?"

A flash of anger flitted across his stony features. "Who the hell  _are_  your contacts?"

"You know better than to ask that, Wrex. Especially publicly."

Wrex scratched his head. "If it's Korvek, I'll kill him," he growled, but he seemed distracted. Or even…if she didn't know him any better, Liara might've thought he looked  _embarrassed_.

She waited.

"Well…I wanted to just knock a few heads around. Maybe shoot one of the fools. Worked well enough in the past. So I…but when I…Bakara said…what is it with her and  _reason_ , anyway? She wanted me to… _explain_  to them."

She had to cover her mouth to suppress her giggle. "Well, as the Shadow Broker, I can vouch for the power of mere words. And I'm sure your recent Assembly appointment had given you the… _tact_  required."

A krogan scowl was a fearsomely ugly sight. "Yeah, but…krogan aren't… _hrmph_." This time she couldn't contain her amusement, drawing a glare from the ancient battlemaster. " _Anyway_ …I told them about a young quarian I knew who went on a Pilgrimage. How she ended up on Shepard's crew, killed more enemies in three years than most warlords in three hundred, became the pride of her people…you understand."

Fascinatingly sentimental logic for a krogan, even one as soft as Wrex could sometimes be, though of course he would deny it if she mentioned it. It was…touching. "Tali would be flattered."

If anything, Wrex looked even  _more_  embarrassed. "It was her idea, really," he grunted, a hint of approval in his rumbling voice. "You remember what it was like – we'd won at Earth, sure, but…"

Liara sighed, her own memories rising to the surface. "I remember. The old Council races wanted desperately to return to the old days, but no one else would hear of it."

The asari had been particularly vocal, much to her dismay…though not, perhaps, to her surprise. Former leaders of galactic civilization, handpicked by the Protheans, original discoverers of the Citadel…even homeless and weak, hers was a proud race. And then later, when they'd discovered her own father's heroics during the Citadel siege, that one of their own had stood up to a Reaper...

The academic in her had been anxiously fascinated, though. "The status quo had almost killed us all, but changing it meant changing our cultures. Meant changing  _everything_. I take it your people didn't appreciate that either."

"Few races had it as bad as we did. Alright, yours had a long fall, but you recovered in time." A deep breath, a pause as Wrex visibly collected his thoughts. "My people had always known war, but suddenly there were no enemies left to fight. The genophage had been cured. The turians called us heroes, brothers,  _warriors_. Only a faction of salarians still hated us, and no krogan will ever forget the sacrifice that gave us a future. Where did we go from there?"

His face crinkled into a broad smile. "Tali faced the same question. The geth helping instead of shooting, and all that. She mentioned, soon after we won…hmmph. Must've been three months after she retook Thessia. You fought there, didn't you?"

Liara nodded absently, her chest tightening with fondness for her quarian friend. Garrus had masterminded the retaking of Thessia (and of at least thirty other worlds), but it was Tali who had led the ground forces that stormed the asari capital.

"Well, she talked about keeping the Pilgrimage for the quarians. Something about paying homage to her journey. Didn't take a genius to figure out what…who…she was  _really_  honoring."

Warmth. Unchecked, unfiltered.  _So that's why he's so embarrassed_.  _When I tell her, she'll blush_  ~ her pale human cheeks filling with that beautiful red ~  _and smile at Tali's gesture, crack a joke about Wrex growing soft._

"And I'll be varren shit if I ever let a quarian show me up."

_And some things never change._

"She'll appreciate both gestures, Wrex. If there was one thing she -"

"How is she?"

She'd been ready for the question, had expected it –  _if anyone was to ask, it'd be Wrex, the most blunt, the most hardened_ – but it still shut her up. Too abruptly.

_Dammit. He'll notice._

Sure enough, Wrex was staring. "No evasions, T'soni," he growled softly, his eyes glittering. "The truth. What did she sacrifice for us? What is she suffering now?"

Her first instinct was to brush him off, to spare him the knowledge as she'd done for a quarter-century…but Wrex deserved to know. For all Shepard had done for the galaxy, she had done so much more for her friends, and they had done so much in return. Liara had tried, for all their sakes, to keep Shepard's struggle hidden…but even the Shadow Broker could keep her painful secret no longer.

Not from friends. Not from family.

Either the Presidium's reservoir was misting her cheeks, or she couldn't keep her anger in check.

"She still hears them."

Silence.

" _When it's quiet, when I'm by myself…no, that's not right. I'm never alone, not really. They're always with me, always watching, always whispering. But you know this already, don't you. I'm rambling, aren't I?"_

_Three melds in one day. Three melds, and still the source of her love's agony remained out of reach. "I think I should try to purge the Cipher. It was given to you by an indoctrinated asari, her meld would've passed that to you as well. And then there are the Prothean visions, the beacons were built long after the Reapers' invasion had begun so they might have been integrated with Reapers signals, and then when Saren used them there could have been neural feedback, that would explain—"_

_A hand on her wrist, a weary smile, stunning blue-green eyes full of both love and horrible, horrible pain._

" _Liara."_

 _Tears welling up, choking her, her heart clenching with frustration-guilt-horror at her own failures but she had to go on, she had to remove,_  would _remove Shepard's terrible burden. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what else to do, I've poured everything I could into gathering information but there's nothing, just_ nothing _, nobody who knows anything we don't already—"_

" _Liara."_

 _Shaking, uncontrollable shaking, she had to be strong, if only for_ her _, but she_ couldn't _, just couldn't, nothing she could do, how was she supposed to—_

" _I can face them."_

 _Slapping Shepard's hold off her wrist, tears streaking her cheeks. "No you_ can't _, I can read your mind, Shepard, when we meld I_ am _you, and each time the pain is nearly enough to drive me mad_ _, how can you possibly handle—"_

_Shepard hugged her._

_The dam broke._

_After a time, they drew apart. Shepard spoke first._ _"I think after a couple decades I know what I'm doing, no? And I'm still here."_

_Liara shook her head. "Always you ask me," she whispered. "Always you ask me to accept that you have a thousand dead gods in your head _—_ "_

_Shepard gestured at the viewport, at the vast black canopy dotted with light. "See that?"_

_She would not play this game. Would not._

_"Are you going to make me say it?"_

_She sighed. "You're going to tell me anyway."_

_"It would be insensitive for me to tell you that you're no fun," Shepard murmured, her theatrical sigh taking just enough of the edge off to keep Liara from exploding. "Planets, love. Stars. Places we haven't been, haven't explored. Discoveries to make. Hell, you still don't even know what's going on with _—_ "_

_"Don't do this to me." Goddess, this woman was infuriating. "The pain you're feeling—"_

_"Fucking blows, yeah." Liara snorted in spite of herself at the crudeness of Shepard's interruption._

_"When we meld, that you have to see my pain cuts me more than they ever could," Shepard said, her gaze drifting only to snap back with a sudden grin. "But it works both ways. What you feel for me, I can see it. I can feel it. What do the Reapers have that matches_ that _?"_

 _Somehow, despite the tremble in her voice, despite the glitter of madness that lurked in the foundations of her smile, Shepard's expression was heartbreakingly warm_.

" _Do you remember what you said before Earth? How easy it would be for a single ship to get lost up there? To leave everything behind? That's us, here, now. They can chase me, but they will never drag me down."_

_Liara stared, her anger draining away as it always did._ _Only Shepard could admit to perpetual flight, to riding the razor-thin wave of madness, with such determination._

_Sitting there, massaging the hands of her suffering lover, it seemed like all Liara could do was trust Shepard. Trust her strength, her endurance, her heart._

_She hated that all she could offer was a weak smile…but it strengthened when Shepard's face lit up like a sun._

_And Liara could once again try to forgive herself._

" _I…okay." She took a deep breath. "Okay."_

_Soft lips brushed her forehead. "Then rest. I'll set our course for Matano. I still can't believe we spent a total of forty minutes on Chasca last time. Damn Saren..."_

"T'soni."

Liara blinked.

Wrex was standing before the statue a few yards away, his back to her. "I guess you've got the real woman, but for most of the galaxy this is the only Shepard we have."

Slowly, her limbs heavy and soft in the aftermath of her memory, she stepped over to join him. It wasn't a question, so she held her tongue.

"Not much to look at, being human."

Her eyes narrowed.

He glanced at her and chuckled. "Tough, though. Durable. And whoever carved that expression deserves a raise. She went through a lot. Suffered more than any fifty people put together."

Liara swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "She's suffered enough."

Shaking his head, Wrex laughed. "She could have stopped at any moment. Said it was enough, resigned herself to the reality of her situation. Every krogan did it, even me. Gave up."

His red eyes glowed. "Who do you think suffered more?"

"Wrex, she experiences more pain in a year than you have in your  _entire_  –"

" _With her conviction intact_." Wrex's expression burned halfway between a grin and fierce awe. "There was never a warrior like her, and there never will be again. When she said something, did something, she  _meant_ it. She didn't just talk, didn't just fight, didn't just  _believe_. Any fool can  _believe._ She  _won_ , and she did it without losing that inner fire. Sounds to me like she's still got it."

"I—"

"She  _knew_  the risks she took. Better than anyone, even you. Didn't stop her from taking them."

Surprised, Liara stared at the aging krogan. Several long seconds passed before she could find her voice. "She once told me you would understand her better than anyone."

"Smart human." His stare was direct, knowing. "Then listen. Every warrior has a choice, makes a decision. She made hers. Honor that as the galaxy does. As the krogan do."

He looked up at the statue once more, his voice a reverent murmur. "As I do."

She wanted to protest, but he was right. Maybe Shepard was right, or maybe she was wrong, but it wasn't Liara's call to make.

_Alright, Shepard…if taking on the burden you carry…if that was your choice, all yours…then mine is to never let you be forgotten._

* * *

Dark steel gleamed proudly in the Presidium's gentle light. A fitting tribute to the legend who'd chosen to give everything, the woman who'd heard the Reapers' whispers but refused to listen.

Ten thousand years later, when the galaxy had prospered and declined a dozen times over, people still mentioned a name. Their elders told a story, a tale woven from ancient human records and turian proverbs, from quarian rituals and geth memory, from krogan legends and asari time capsules.

They told, and they remembered.


End file.
